


Muddled Homes

by AjaysLullaby



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Mirage is sad and torture him lovingly, wattson is an angel as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AjaysLullaby/pseuds/AjaysLullaby
Summary: Elliot "Mirage" Witt has a mental breakdown and misses home terribly. Sometimes you can't be who you are, and it really fucking sucks.
Relationships: Wattson | Natalie Paquette & Mirage | Elliot Witt
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Muddled Homes

Mirage - or was he Elliot right now? He couldn’t tell, it all got muddled in his head. He was the same person but _Mirage_ was different to _Elliot._ He hated and loved it. Loved the fame, the attention, loved that people actually _knew_ him, but he hated that he had to perform for others, constantly be on his toes, looking behind him, wondering if his mother would even recognize him as he was. 

Sometimes he made himself sick. What was he if not a glory hound? A fame chaser, someone only obsessed with their image? Sure, he act the part easily - it _always_ came easy to him. Acting was how he got attention when he was younger. Elliot - or was he Mirage? Maybe he’d never truly know the difference now, stuck as he was forever between two worlds; two people so different yet similar. 

He curled up smaller, tired and numb on his bed-couch. The posters and fanart of himself mocking with their fake cheer, the veneer of happiness and cocky confidence falling away to reveal the man beneath the unknown armor. He was just _him_ , his mothers’ little chickadee. Nothing more, nothing less.

He was empty and raw, fresh tears streaking down a face cold and apathetic to the rest of the world. He wondered, after dying so many times, when he’d finally die for real. He wasn’t afraid anymore, not really. After dying in the arena like he had - shot, stabbed, lava, drowning, Caustic’s gas - he was far beyond afraid. But he wouldn’t die until the Syndicate decided he wasn’t useful anymore. And as long as he put on a show, he was useful. He didn’t understand why he still went out there and did so. He was tired of it all. He couldn’t even remember how long he’d been there for. It ran and blurred together like mixing paint.

He missed his mother and her homemade pies, her rough hands teaching his how to solder different pieces of metal together. The hours they would spend on the technology he used now, to keep himself useful and alive. Her humming off key early in the morning or late at night while she did chores around the house. He _missed_ her. 

He sighed, trembling hand coming up to wipe his face, smearing the wet all over and not really improving anything. There was no use in crying over it. No _use_ in being a sad, sorrowful sight. If he wasn’t _useful_ he was _dead dead._ So he had to pick himself up and be _Mirage_ again — be useful and funny and charming so he could live. If only for her, and maybe the family he might’ve found in the rest of the legends. Well, maybe a few of them. Caustic wasn’t exactly the picture of “family man”.

Mirage - because that’s who he was now, he was _Mirage_. Elliot Witt died a slow, quiet death in the recesses of his mind months ago. Sometimes the ghost of him would still rattle and moan, make a push to once more become who he used to be. But it was more of a whisper than any true attempt.

“Mirage?” Her voice was soft, concerned. He wanted to hate it, but found he couldn’t. Instead, he simply felt tired and maybe relieved. 

“Present. What’s up Sparky?” He did his best to sound cheerful, but it fell flat.

“I came to check on you. It’s after dinner and you didn’t show up. Octane wanted to do it but I figured he'd be a bit too much, ouí?"

Mirage snorted, "He would be more likely to make me want to blow him up - _again_ \- if he tried. Thanks kiddo. I'm sure I'll be fine. I always recap-recoop- I always bounce back." He did his best to grin, but it came off more a grimace.

She laughed, pushing his feet off the couch, forcing him to sit up as she sat down.

"You know, we're here for you, Mirage. You can talk to us." 

"I know Sparky. I'm just sad you guys won't let me cook!" The fake cheer sounded cracked even to him, and he sighed. "I'm homesick kiddo. Nothing that won't pass, okay?"

She nodded, "I understand. I miss my papá often, it can be...hard, when they're not here."

Mirage blinked, not expecting the younger woman to pick up on that small fact.

"Thanks, Sparky."

She smiled, face soft, blonde hair fluffed out around her head like a soft halo.

"Anytime, Elliot." 


End file.
